


touch

by voidlols



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 08:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12552888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidlols/pseuds/voidlols
Summary: The different ways Lance and Keith touch as their relationship develops and changes.





	touch

It starts with hands. 

Lance is a very handsy individual—not even in the sexual way, either. Just in general. As soon as he and Keith had moved past the initial “the-only-emotion-I-feel-in-your-presence-is-annoyance” phase, Lance seemed to grant himself permission to start touching Keith. Keith was shocked and unnerved the first time, when Lance casually laid a hand on his shoulder while he was speaking. Physical contact has never really been a part of his life, so something like that—something so natural that still felt so foreign—was new to him. 

It continues from there. Since Keith never objects, Lance seems to grow more comfortable. He puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder almost every time he greets him, now, and has lately taken to ruffling Keith’s hair when he wants to be annoying. He’s even placed his hand on Keith’s before, when they’re just sitting there, but that never lasts long. 

Keith still gets goosebumps from it, though. 

As Lance continues these light, friendly touches, Keith begins to feel a little bad. He never reciprocates, because he doesn’t know what’s appropriate—does Lance want him to? Or is he fine with always being the one to initiate? Keith doesn’t know the protocol, and doesn’t know how to figure it out without asking someone, and he sure as hell isn’t doing _that._ So, he lets Lance handle it, and gradually the novelty and nervousness surrounding it wears off, and it almost begins to feel normal.

Keith can’t honestly say that he doesn’t still notice every time Lance is touching him, though. He always does, and the area always feels burning and tingly afterwards. He has no idea what he’s supposed to make of that.

* * *

After the hand thing has become the norm, Lance ups the game and throws Keith off balance again. He doesn’t stop with just hands anymore; he’ll sling an arm around Keith’s shoulder, pulling him so close that Keith finds his face right in the curve between Lance’s shoulder and neck. Every time this happens, Keith is overwhelmed with Lance’s smell, and it’s— _dizzying_ is the only word Keith can think of to describe it. He can’t even pinpoint what it is, exactly, but it’s there, warm and golden like Lance is. Keith hates it, because it reminds him of how confused he is around Lance. But he never pulls away. 

It doesn’t stop with just that, though. Lance does even _more,_ and Keith is equal parts jarred and intrigued. He’s sitting closer, now, so close that their thighs touch, and every time he speaks to Keith he leans in unnecessarily close—so close that Keith can clearly see his face reflected in those blue ocean eyes, and it makes him fidgety and off-balance. 

He touches Keith’s arm, waist, shoulder, _anywhere_ that can still be considered a show of close friendship, and it’s getting harder and harder for Keith to just sit back and take. Normally he would’ve said something by now—he’s not by nature a shy person, and is more than willing to point something abnormal out—but honestly, despite his discomfort, Keith’s afraid it will stop if he says something. He doesn’t want to scare Lance off. And there’s something dreadfully intoxicating about even just these little touches; they seem to express comfort and trust, something Keith has never had from another person before. 

It’s nice, even if it’s giving Keith all kinds of headaches as he lays in bed at night trying to puzzle it out. But, even so, he finds himself gravitating closer to Lance as this continues, seeking out the warm closeness and touches that feel like they leave splotches on his skin. He still hasn’t tried to reciprocate, but at this point, the urge to know what Lance will do and what his soft skin will feel like under his fingertips is becoming almost overpowering. He’ll wait, though. He’ll control this. 

* * *

Lingering. 

That’s how Keith would describe this new brand of touching that Lance has adopted. It’s almost the same as before, but it’s _not,_ because Lance is _making_ Keith more aware of it, almost begging him to be. It’s unnerving and fascinating at the same time. Lance’s arm lingers around Keith’s shoulder a bit too long than is necessary, his grasp tightening for a fraction of a second before he lets go. Keith notices every time, and every time he can’t get up the courage to ask Lance _why._ Part of him is afraid that he’s imagining this whole thing.

But these enduring touches are driving Keith _insane_. With every second that ticks by, Keith can feel his skin growing hot under Lance’s palm, can feel his heartbeat speeding up as heat unfurls in his stomach. Once or twice he’s almost _leaned_ into the touch, but caught himself at the last minute. He doesn’t know what is _happening,_ what this is _doing_ to him, but all he can think is that he wants _more more more._ He is dying. He feels left behind halfway through every time Lance it happens. 

It’s made him hyperaware of Lance—more than he already was, anyways. And that is certainly not helping this new obsession he’s garnered. He starts noticing _things,_ crazy things, about Lance, like the way he always spreads his arms in these grand, flowy movements when he’s trying to be dramatic, how his smile shifts subtly whenever he jokes about how great he is, how when he swallows it’s really _obvious_ because his neck is so long and Keith can see his Adam’s apple bobbing and normally that wouldn’t be anything but because it’s Lance it’s making Keith feel _things_ and—

Keith’s kind of lost his grip. Just a little bit. He finds himself focusing on Lance’s lips far too much when he talks, getting mesmerised with every flick of the tongue he sees when Lance says something with an “L” in it. He wants to reach out and touch Lance whenever Lance touches him, wants to reciprocate somehow, wants to do _something_ other than be passive in whatever this thing is that Lance is doing.

But he doesn’t. For now, he’s just going to sit. Sit and watch and _feel,_ every time Lance touches him, the vibrations of adrenaline and hormones coursing through his body and melting into his bloodstream, forever flowing through him and mockingly whispering, _look at what he’s doing to you._

* * *

Keith snaps.

Honestly, he’s surprised that he didn’t snap sooner. The way Lance was acting was driving him mental, and every lingering touch or long stare tapped away at Keith’s small storage of self-control until there was absolutely none left and Keith broke through with his trademark impulsivity.

That is to say, he kissed Lance.

Yeah. He did that.

But how was he supposed to _not?_ He kept feeling the pull towards Lance, kept wondering what those obsessively moisturised lips would feel like on his own, kept imagining Lance’s tongue in his mouth, imagining manhandling him against the wall and touching him everywhere he’d touched Keith when Keith hadn’t been brave enough to reciprocate. He _had_ to. He wanted to know what Lance felt like under his fingers, what that tongue of his that Keith spent so much time watching tasted like.

So, one day, when Lance’s hand had drifted down and paused against Keith’s hip, he’d had it. He didn’t even give Lance time to react—he just suddenly launched himself forward, pushed Lance back against the couch, and pressed their lips together in a clumsy and not altogether satisfying way.

But it was a _touch._ And Keith was exhilarated.

“God, _finally_ ,” Lance hissed out, tugging Keith closer and slipping his hands around Keith’s waist, fingertips lightly ghosting the skin underneath his shirt. " _Eso te llevó demasiado tiempo._ ” 

Keith could barely comprehend what Lance was saying, he was so giddily intoxicated by the sensory input he was experiencing. He puts his hands on Lance’s neck, stroking gently with his thumbs, dizzily appreciating the smooth warmth of the skin. _God._ This was so overdue.

They stayed like that for a while, just kissing, getting a feel for this newfound intimacy. Lance seemed more relieved and happy than anything, while Keith felt like firecrackers were going off in his body every five seconds. They kissed slowly, tongues slipping past each other with mixed saliva that was honestly disgusting, pawing at each other’s clothes with classic teenage curiosity and want.

It was lovely. It’s all Keith can think about for the next week.

And it’s certainly not the last time they do it, either.

* * *

Overwhelming touch.

Keith pauses to marvel at how they’ve gone from hand-holding to _this._ Lance is spread out underneath him, moonlight dancing across his eyes from the window in Keith’s room, lips tilted upwards in a mocking smile that Keith has learnt to interpret both as a challenge and as a cover for insecurity. He doesn’t have any clothes on. Neither does Keith. Every touch is electric and new, as Keith’s pale skin and Lance’s dark press together in a smooth and suggestive symbol of yin and yang.

Keith raises a hand, places it on Lance’s chest. It’s warm, and rises and falls with every one of Lance’s slightly erratic breaths. It’s smooth like the rest of him, and flat, but as Keith slowly sweeps his hand downwards, he can feel the squish of his stomach that everybody has. Lance huffs out a laugh when Keith curiously pinches some of it between his fingers. He must be ticklish.

“What are you doing, idiot?” Lance asks in a whisper, voice light and amused. Keith doesn’t respond for a moment, stretching himself more over Lance so that he can see more of his body. Keith’s eyes reflect the starlight dancing on Lance’s skin.

“I’m touching you,” Keith says plainly, lifting his fingers and tracing the curve of Lance’s shoulder. “Is that okay?”

Lance stills, and since Keith is so close to him, he can feel his heartbeat speed up. Keith’s jumps a bit at that too.

“God, yes,” Lance exhales, shuddering slightly as Keith then turns his intensive concentration to Lance’s face, gently caressing his cheek. “You’re just—making me feel. Weird.”

“Weird?” Keith says, immediately withdrawing his hand in fear. The last thing he wants to do is make Lance uncomfortable, or weirded out, or—or _anything._ He never wants to inspire a negative feeling in Lance at all.

“No, no, don’t stop,” Lance says quickly, reaching up and catching Keith’s hand in his and putting it back against his face. “Not weird bad. Weird like. I don’t know. Special.”

“You are,” Keith replies quietly, lowering his head and closing his lips around Lance’s, prodding his mouth open and meeting their tongues. Minutes tick by as their breaths mingle in mist and wet touches, Keith all the while letting his hands wander around Lance’s body with insatiable curiosity.

He can’t get enough of this. Can’t get enough of Lance.

They stop kissing after a while, and Lance allows Keith to continue exploring him in silence. For some reason this seems really meaningful, but all Keith is doing is indulging himself in something he’s wanted for a long time. He’s wanted to touch Lance like this forever, it seems, and watching Lance’s lips part and his expression contort in different ways depending on where he’s touching is probably one of the most vivid sensory experiences Keith has ever had. It is provocative and thrilling, and he never wants to stop.

He actually audibly exhales when he reaches Lance’s thighs, which are surprisingly… _round_ for Lance being such a thin, limber (god, so limber, _so limber,_ thank you god) person. This perks Lance up from his transfixed state, and he lifts his head slightly to regard Keith with hazy, quizzical eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing,” Keith responds, licking his suddenly dry lips. Lance’s thighs are utterly smooth, because Lance shaves every week, and Keith has the absurd, probably insanely filthy and inappropriate thought that they kind of look like chocolate milk.

God. He needs to get a hold of himself.

“Okay…” Lance says, voice still thick and quiet. He stretches slightly, causing Keith to whip his hand back as his eyes dilate even further into blackness. He is so far gone. “In that case, since you’ve successfully made me ultra-sensitive to the smallest touch, d’you want to…?”

Lance drops his eyes, which have turned wide and dark, and Keith can tell that it’s not out of insecurity but is instead a clear proposition. Keith swallows, dazed and shaky with emotion and lust, and nods jerkily.

“God, yes.”

He’ll never have to puzzle over or covet Lance’s touch again, will he?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> translations:  
>  _eso te llevó demasiado tiempo_ : that took too long. (thanks to [TheyCallMeBol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyCallMeBol) for the translation!)
> 
> i'm a very touch-starved individual 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/adrienyea) \+ [tumblr](http://senpajs.tumblr.com/) if u wanna chat


End file.
